Throwing My Sister Under the Bus

I want to say it was about 2003, maybe 2002. All I know is that it was one of the last few years we lived in Oregon before moving to California. We lived in a three bedroom apartment in a small complex across the street from the Nike headquarters in Beaverton. It was an unremarkable Oregon day, not quite sunny, most likely overcast, but not with a chance of rain. It was cold, but not cold enough to need more than a light sweater, and we were going to be running around anyways and knew we'd regret taking anything thicker. Such is the curse of playing outside in Oregon.

It was a weekend and my sister and I were craving some mischief, as all children are wont to do on weekends. We had a few other friends at the complex, children we had stumbled upon during the summer as they drew on the sidewalk in the shade of the three-story buildings and plumb trees. I don't recall who exactly came with us that day, only that there weren't more than five of us, if even that many, and that I was the definite ringleader.

Our day did not start off with mischief. We sprinted through the field that ran parallel to the apartments, a wide swath of tall native grass with power lines towering overhead. This field separated a townhouse complex from our apartments, and it was a favorite for us to play in; sometimes, people from the townhouses who had dogs brought them to the field and let us play with them. I trotted along a cracked and beaten dirt path hoping to see Bob and Emma, our two favorite dogs from the townhouses.

They weren't there, so our ensemble played in the small stand of trees instead. We had a fort there that we maintained: we scavenged cardboard from the recycling dumpsters, turning a ring of trees and grass into a grand palace with a floor you could sit on and walls that blocked the wind and prying eyes. It smelled a little like urine and we were concerned a bum or some raccoon had starting living in it. But our line of defense, the untamable black berry bushes, had grown over the entrance and we soon were tired of beating them into place while at the same time trying not to let the sharp points rake across our thin sweaters. We raced to one of the marshes instead.

Now, the location of this marsh was rather important. Our apartment complex was in two sections, the second section backed up to the townhouses and was only accessible from the main part of the complex. The marsh touched both the townhouse complex and this second, smaller part of our complex. It was at this juncture that a wicked idea started to form in my mind. The marsh smelled bad and there wasn't any water in it, which meant no tadpoles or frogs to catch, and I wasn't in the mood to wallow in the mud and become one with the sharp, stubby  marsh plants.

I will admit upfront that I was a terrible older sister that day.



But it's in a funny way.

Sort of.

(sorry, Sylvia, hopefully you won't read this blog and want to kill me)

On the wall of the grey building was a circuit breaker, the kind that aren't locked when they ought to be, and can be accessed by literally anyone, up to and including impish children and well-meaning technicians. Why did I notice this? Because there was an identical one on the building where my family lived, and it had a big lever. A really big, really tempting lever I had tried to convince my sister to pull earlier that week, but she chickened out and run shrieking across the soft grass proclaiming a game of hide and seek was in order.

Somehow I got everyone to plant themselves against that rough, primer-grey wall like spies hiding from stray bullets. Here's a sidenote about my history: I grew up with only boys to play with. I had acquired a bit of a taste for pranks (much to my sister's great displeasure).

"Wouldn't it be a great prank if we pulled this?" This building, after all, was where people lived if they didn't want to have to deal with children running around, making noise, having fun. These were the mean old people, the lonely singles, the working couples, people who found the merriment of children bothersome. At least, that was how we interpreted this forbidden land of wonder and mystery (which actually turned out to be quite boring upon later investigation)

No one answered; they all looked at their feet. My sister fidgeted and did a wonderful impression of a hawk scanning for prey. I  may have been the oldest kid in the group. There may have been one other kid my age, but I was certainly the boldest.

"Sylvia, you do it."

My sister is four years younger than me, and she couldn't have been any older than eight. She shook her head and giggled. I looked at the rest of the group. A kind of heady tingle a few degrees more subtle than dizziness surged through my stomach and crept up my throat. Without saying anything else, I yanked the lever and bolted. Everyone scattered like shadows at the strike of a match, all in different directions to avoid getting caught. My sister managed to keep up with me, and we looped back through the townhouses and the field, going all the way to a construction site adjacent to our apartments to throw off any adult attention.

Later that day, our parents confronted us saying the apartment manager had asked everyone with kids if they knew why the power had gone out in the other building, because one of the crotchety old women with nothing better to do had reported seeing kids running away from the building. My sister and I both stood there, not saying anything except that we had been playing with Bob and Emma at the time and weren't anywhere near that building. The TV was on, probably a rerun of Friends or Star Trek Voyager. Not much was on at 5pm on a Saturday on basic cable.

My sister and I stood there. I clenched my toes on the brown carpet and smiled innocently. After all, I was the oldest, the most responsible. I wasn't worried, except that my heart pounded so fast I was surprised I wasn't visibly vibrating with guilt. My parents excused my sister and asked me to stay.

"We think your sister did it," they said after I told them, straight to their faces, that I hadn't done it. Some part of me knew I probably wouldn't have been in very much trouble for it (my parents aren't the kind to punish severely for something so simple as causing a power outage that is easily reversed), but another part of me really, really wanted to keep my integrity with my parents. I'm the eldest; I have an obligation to be the best kid.

I lied to my parents and said my younger sister had done it, that she had almost done the same on our building just yesterday but I heroically stopped her before she could.

What happened next? My parents excused me and called my sister back. I heard her start to cry and deny she had done it, but she didn't rat me out or try to advocate her innocence. She caved when my mother said, in a very stern voice (that also kind of sounded like she was trying not to laugh) that she and my father had a finger printing kit and would go dust the switches to prove it was my sister.

That day was a great success. I learned I could blame just about anything on my sister, provided we were both involved, and get away with it, because I was the older sibling and my parents were more likely to believe me over my sister. It's really a terrible thing to say, but that's the truth (haha). I became basically invincible.

Although, after those ten nerve-wracking seconds of debating whether or not to pull the switch before giving in to my devilish impulses, I'd had my fill of adventure for a few years.